


Given a Choice, Always Take the Cookies

by FelicityGS



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Budding Relationship, Human AU, M/M, Romance, Slice of Life, denial is also a river in egypt, next door neighbors au, next door neighbours au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-16
Updated: 2014-10-16
Packaged: 2018-02-21 10:22:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2464760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FelicityGS/pseuds/FelicityGS
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki’s been living there for a while because it’s his father’s apartment complex and it’s amazing how badly his father wants him on a leash. God knows he doesn’t want neighbours, but when his duplex is the only one left with an opening, he knows it’s only a matter of time. The worst part is, the neighbour’s neighbourly. He comes next door with apple pie the day after he moves in. Loki doesn’t answer the door. He stares out the peephole, confused and dismayed when the man doesn’t just leave the pie there, but goes back home with it, looking… disappointed? </p>
<p>
  <em>Well then.</em>
</p>
<p>Then the neighbour <em>keeps trying</em>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Given a Choice, Always Take the Cookies

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thisiswhatthewatergaveme](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisiswhatthewatergaveme/gifts).



> About a billion billion years ago* thisiswhatthewatergaveme mentioned this au to me. I uh. I've been working on it off and on since then, and I'm finally done.
> 
> I sort of meant it to be part of the Steve/Loki exchange, then never saw the deadlines and so it's not part of that at all. I'm bad at exchanges/bangs _exactly because of this_. 
> 
> N-E-WAY ENJOY
> 
> *this may be an exaggeration, but it's been a whole year and change

The doorbell rings.

Loki freezes, running down the list of his acquaintances in his head and packages en route, and determines he is not actually expecting anyone or anything. Packages absolutely never show up a day before tracking says because life simply isn't fair (read: life does not bend time and physics for Loki despite his deeply held belief it _should_ ), and he has resolutely determined not to invite anyone over today (or yesterday, for that matter) for the same reason he has even more resolutely not risked stepping foot outside his own half of the duplex.

(It is not that Loki is anti-social. Au contraire, Loki is deeply social at select times at select places with even more select people. Loki's mother, a psychiatrist, has suggested on more than one occasion that he look into anti-anxiety medication. Loki has told her to fuck off--not with those words, of course, Loki loves his mother and would prefer not to upset her that way.

It is not lost on Loki that many of his lamentations concerning people and social situations can be directly traced back to his mother. Growing up with a psychiatrist _does things_ to a person's self-esteem (even if Thor has shown no signs of being similarly affected).)

Realizing that he has not unfrozen like a panicked deer since the doorbell rang, Loki forces himself to move. He is not actually going to answer the door, so it's not like it will hurt to just _see_ who has decided to ring.

Peepholes are not made for truly _seeing_ a person, but they do well enough to convey that firstly, Loki does not know this person, and secondly, they are holding what suspiciously looks like pie. _Pie_. Who even brings pie over?

Part of him, an intrinsic part of his soul (this is the part that Thor says Loki could change--the wet, damp, dark part that prefers to see people choke on their own kindness), recoils in horror, because the only people who bring _pie_ over and who are also strangers are _neighbours_. Proper neighbours, neighbourly neighbours, of the Mr. Rogers sort.

Loki cannot _stand_ neighbourly neighbours. Loki wants to be left alone, not bribed with _pie_ and forced by social courtesy (despite what his entire family thinks, Loki is acquainted with the concept) to be _pleasant_ for more than five seconds at a time.

The _neighbour_ eventually leaves, shoulders slumping in disappointment (Loki is doing him a favour, who _actually_ wants to meet their neighbor).

He takes the pie with him.

(Loki's sweet tooth--perhaps the only sweet thing about him--is so hopelessly disappointed it suggests opening the door to catch the stranger before he leaves, but Loki has not allowed his sweet tooth to change his mind since he was a child.)

Loki hopes that will be the last of that.

•••

The fact Loki has gained a neighbor does not surprise him. It was only a matter of carefully monitored time, and (unfortunately) his father can be quite the salesman.

Duplexes. His father wants to keep a short leash, eternally convinced Loki will either end up in a hospital or prison if let to roam too far. Loki would object except he is not living at home, the rent may well be nothing at all, and he actually likes _this place_.

He has primarily liked this one because his father is at least wise enough not to subject Loki to a neighbor when there are other locations available.

(Loki is entirely aware that the reverse--his father does not wish to subject anyone to Loki--is more likely, and chooses to ignore it. Loki is very good at ignoring displeasing truths.)

Therefore, it is only _natural_ his father has managed to find the most disgustingly friendly person he could. He clearly wants Loki to commit murder, short leash or no.

When his doorbell buzzes, Loki absolutely does not throw the couch pillow at the door in a fit of spite and then glare after it. He is watching his show and his Mr. Rogers of a neighbor can _die in a fire_.

(He is aware that said Mr. Rogers very likely knows Loki is home because the walls are paper thin and Loki has the television turned quite loud. As much as Loki would enjoy cutting his tongue on Mads Mikkelsen's cheekbones, the man is a damnably quiet speaker.)

Loki does not answer the door. His show is on one night a week, and he _refuses_ to be spoiled by the internet because he decided to speak to someone he doesn't even desire to know.

•••

If asked, every person who knows Loki--family, acquaintance, or otherwise--would say very cautiously that Loki is one of the most exact and scheduled individuals they know. His mother would fondly say that one could set a clock by him.

His mother is the only one who would say this at all, as she is the only person Loki loves unconditionally and so the only person who can get away with it--even if he would glower and spend the rest of the evening in a sulk.

Loki thinks one shouldn't listen to his mother, unless one is her patient.

This need for exactness is currently the root cause of his predicament.

Loki always goes shopping at 4:30pm on Fridays, because he had found the fewest number of people go shopping then, and he is always back by 6 so he can have his dinner promptly at 7. Loki has done this for as long as he has lived by himself.

_Unfortunately_ , he was just reaching for the door when the doorbell rang. Loki has not looked, but he is entirely certain it is the _neighbor_ who doesn't have the decency to _take a hint_.

Loki always leaves by 4:30. A glance at his watch proves that it is, indeed, 4:30.

He will tell the _neighbour_ he is busy and be as rude as possible, in the high hopes this will discourage further intrusions.

(Thor might suggest Loki's highest hopes are still rather low lying, and invariably glum--if appropriately out of Loki's hearing.)

Loki opens the door, armed with every drop of ill-willed irritation he currently has.

He closes his mouth with a click. His neighbor is his height, blond hair and cream skin stretched over broad and taut muscle (Loki may be extrapolating from the shirt that hugs his form), eyes a brilliant fairy pool blue. As soon as he sees Loki he smiles like _smiling_ is the easiest thing in the world.

(Loki does not have a type and if he did it would not look like this very-much-his-type man in front of him.)

Loki dislikes him immediately. On principle.

"Hi, my name's Steve Rogers--" and the universe is just _spiting_ Loki now, Rogers, _really_ "--and I must keep missing you--" bullshit, they both know "--but I just moved in so I wanted to introduce myself and..." The scowl firmly affixed to Loki's face must finally have an effect, or he simply hadn't planned past this moment. Steve holds out the dish in his hands. Not pie--cookies.

Loki's sweet tooth both rejoices and informs the rest of him if he turns down still warm cookies (he can feel and smell the heat from here) that it will stage a mutiny. As Loki is well aware and, in fact, _used_ to his body staging mutinies (as it has since he was four, at earliest memory), he decides taking the cookies and their social obligation is the better part of valour.

"Right," Loki says, voice clipped and sharp enough to cut skin. "Hello, thank you, my name is Loki. A pleasure to make your acquaintance." He allows Steve to hand him the cookies (thankfully his sweet tooth has no decency, else it would be appalled at his tone), setting them gingerly down on the end table by the door and snatching his keys up. "If you will excuse me, I am going out. The grocery store."

As soon as Loki qualifies where he is going, he realizes it is a mistake--Steve's disappointment vanishes, another grin spreading on his face (flash and light, how do people _stand_ being like Steve?), and Steve very quickly asks (likely aware of the rapidly vanishing opportunity to take advantage of Loki's short-lived niceties), "The grocery store! I'm new here, still learning my way around. Do you mind if I follow you on my bike?"

"On your...?" The mental disconnect momentarily interrupts Loki's brusque antagonism as he squints at Steve. "How do you expect to take your bike on the highway, pray tell?"

"It's a motorcycle," Steve says with a laugh, genuinely amused.

Loki sniffs, stepping out and closing his door with a snap. Instead of say anything and risk entirely alienating his new tag-along (not that he would mind, understand), he walks past and allows Steve to follow.

•••

Loki may or may not push his black Camry as fast as it can go on the highway, in spite of the part of him that suggests he is being petty.

(Loki is used to ignoring that part of him.)

Steve keeps up easily, afternoon light glancing off his red and blue helmet (he's probably _patriotic_ , too).

Steve looks unfairly good on his motorcycle.

•••

"--well, _that's_ when my father realized that he had mixed up the two batches of eggnog, and given the _spiked_ eggnog to _us_ and the plain to the _adults_. Mother was _furious_ , of course," Loki says, his particular sharp and barely there smirk of a grin on his features. Steve laughs next to him and Loki pauses for a moment to get a second carton of almond milk (lactose intolerant; what Thor and his father both call the hippy food movement has been a boon for Loki) because if they are going to eat those cookies, they're eating them properly _and_ \--

"I bet," Steve says, ignorant of the small crisis Loki is having, stepping in line in front of Loki, before turning his charm onto the cashier.

_They?_

(When did he start to _enjoy_ this trip out, he's meant to _dislike_ Steve, Steve is his new neighbor who would like to _be_ neighbours, Loki swore he wasn't going to _enjoy_ himself, not at all.)

_They_ , as in he and Steve enjoying the cookies, _together_?

(It must have been on the spices and dry goods aisle, Steve persisting in talking and picking up some flour, telling Loki about spilling it all over himself as a child and his mother thinking him a ghost and how Loki finally, _finally_ snapped (broke) and told him about a similar incident with Thor, exasperated and unwillingly drawn in by Steve.)

Steve glances back at him and smiles, pleased and delighted and _grateful_ , and Loki only _just_ refrains from groaning.

•••

The cookies are _perfect_.

Loki gives Steve the first glass of almond milk and allows him to pick the movie instead of saying 'thank you.'

•••

Steve brings cake over the next Friday, pie the one after that, and the third they make cookies.

Loki assures himself it is only his sweet tooth even as he finds a recipe for chocolate lava cupcakes and they are fast approaching six weeks.

(Loki does not _like_ people, especially not big and blond and cheerful blue-eyed neighbours, just as he does not look forward to baking with Steve while a movie plays in the background. He _especially_ does not like curling up on the couch with Steve to eat the still hot rewards of their labour.)

•••

Hand in hand with Loki's (excessive) exactness is a loathing so intense for schedule interruptions it could ruin empires if Loki ever acted upon it. Fortunately for much of the world, Loki acting upon his loathing usually amounts to raiding the supermarket for all the whiskey and frozen yoghurt he can carry then locking himself in his duplex to watch _The Notebook_ for the umpteenth time. (Loki, naturally, would deny that he loves the movie; Steve, who has become quite wise to the particulars of interacting with Loki, does not suggest otherwise.)

On this particular day, Loki is entirely prepared to lower himself to the level of murdering puppies (and not just if it will fix things).

In fact, Loki is at such a level of distress that when his phone rings for the sixth time in twice as many minutes, he answers it with the snarl of an evil overlord whose minions have very much failed him while the hero is in the midst of storming his castle.

(Loki generally prefers that he at least _seem_ collected, no matter how much a lie it may be.)

" _What_?!"

"Are you okay?" Steve asks, instead of his more typical hello. He does not even sound _cheery_.

(Loki contemplates what possessed him to give Steve his number through the haze of his migraine and fury.)

"I am _perfectly fine_ \--now _what is it_?"

"Do you want me to wait for you to get home to go grocery shopping, or do you want me to go ahead? Do you want me to get you anything?"

Loki pins the phone to his ear, pushing his sleeve (still soaked, because the sky decided to bucket exactly when he stepped out of his car) up to look at his watch--4:50pm, which he did not notice at all, on a Friday, and here he is, still at the client's.

This is why Loki prefers working from home. This is why Loki avoids visiting clients. This is why many things, and for an infinitesimal yet infinite moment Loki doesn't see or hear anything except black shuddering ice _rage_ and _helplessness_ twined together.

"Loki?"

If it were anyone else--including his mother, even though Loki loves her unconditionally--he would snarl at the tone and hang up without another word.

This, however, is Steve, and while Loki would not admit this on pain of death, Steve is _different_.

(Secretly, Loki is convinced that Steve simply finds him a novelty. Loki does not often care what people think of him (read: he cares far too much), but the risk of Steve creating the even more awkward situation of neighbor-who-drama-has-occurred-with is far too great to simply snap at him like he would with anyone else.

That's all it is.)

"No," Loki says with a sigh, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "No, go ahead."

•••

It is, of course, still raining when Loki finally manages to escape the trainwreck that his workday turned into. He still does not have an umbrella, and while he _was_ marginally less soaked to the bone, the trip to the car means that it doesn't make too much of a difference.

(Loki chalks it up to another microaggression, just one more way the universe is determined to make him give up today. At this point he's not even angry, only exhausted and drained.)

He does stop by the grocery store, but he ends up leaving with barely anything at all when he realizes he is too exhausted to remember what was on his list--the list still pinned to the fridge, the third in a long list of ways his day slid sideways, inevitable as a car crash on black ice.

By the time he gets home, it's nearly 11pm.

For a few long moments after he turns the car off, he simply sits there, eyes closed and head tipped back, surrounded by the soft white noise of rain drumming against the hood.

Then he shakes himself before he falls asleep--because of all the terrible things to happen, at the _least_ he can make sure he dries off and falls asleep in his own bed.

Except that is apparently far too much to ask. His key is very clearly not on the keyring. Loki stares at it, trying to muster up the energy to will it into place (in his mind, he can see it, clear as day--he was replacing the colour coded sticker that had worn off last night, and it sits on the coffee table, forgotten and taunting).

Steve steps out on their shared porch and for a few long moments Loki only stares at him, trying to wrap his head around what Steve is doing on _his_ porch at 11 at night through the low-grade fog of misery.

"I saw you pull up," Steve says. "Do you need help?"

(There are very many situations that question could apply to.)

"I've locked myself out," Loki says, and he hates how helpless he sounds, how lost, how he wants to simply sit down and _cry_ at the unfairness of it all.

(He doesn't--Steve may be special, but he's not _that_ special.)

"Why don't you come inside?" Steve asks, and he smiles that damnable smile--the one that is soft at the edges, and kind.

•••

Despite Steve regularly visiting Loki's, Loki has never actually been to Steve's. It seems like an oversight of some sort, but Loki honestly couldn't care less.

Steve's home is well-lit but not harsh, lamps all soft yellow light that give the rooms a decidedly warm glow. Loki hardly pays attention as Steve hands him a bath towel, robe, and spare pajamas before pushing him to the bathroom.

(Loki would point out that he's been more than wet enough for a lifetime, thank you, but Steve is being oddly firm, firm not in persistence (as he usually is) but in refusing all objections.)

Loki does not bother to protest.

When he emerges, trying not to feel inadequate (Steve could likely hold the world on the broadness of his shoulders alone) or ridiculous (pants slung as low on his hips as possible because Loki's height is entirely in his legs), there's smell thick and savory on the air that makes his mouth water despite not having been hungry at all.

"Just some leftover stew," Steve apologizes even though Loki is seriously considering kissing him as he is handed a deliciously warm bowl. "You looked cold."

"Thank you," Loki says. He narrows his eyes at Steve, trying to figure out why Steve is smiling, and which particular part of him it is causing it, while he tries the stew. Delicious, of course. Probably perfect, because Steve is unfair in the kitchen.

(People always laugh at Loki; this is a truth that is so fundamental to his worldview that the fact it is often not true doesn't matter at all.)

(It's probably his hair, usually kept smooth and slicked back; now, after the shower, it is a mess of loose ringlets and waves, utterly infuriating and embarrassing.)

"What?" Loki demands, slightly less sharp than it would have been before he tried the stew.

"Nothing, nothing. I just think that's the first time you've ever verbally said thank you," Steve says with a grin.

Loki cannot decide if he should be offended or stunned or ignore the statement entirely and so ends up standing in Steve's kitchen, ungrateful and irritated (but at least warm).

"I'll put a movie on," Steve says, briefly touching Loki's arm before slipping past him.

Loki stares after him and decides he will settle on stunned because (no one _notices_ his nonverbal thank you's, that's the whole _point_ ) he already must look it and Loki is never one to waste an expression.

•••

There is liquor (because Loki might not be able to remember a grocery list, but he _can_ remember toothpaste and whiskey), a movie (not _The Notebook_ , but it will do), and at some point in the comfortable haze of fluffy bathrobe, slight (read: modest) intoxication, and ridiculous action movie Loki ends up half-asleep against Steve's (absurdly broad) chest.

If asked, Loki might even admit that this almost makes up for the rest of his day (but that is only because his defenses are lowered).

Loki might sit like a harlot inviting all and sundry to see his legs, but he sleeps curled up on his side, cat-like in the impossibility of something so large becoming quite so small, octopus-like in the half-instinctive twisting around whatever is warmest--be it pillow or next-door neighbour.

Steve, for his part, doesn't seem to be mind. Even better, Steve seems wise enough to say nothing, only resting an arm around Loki's shoulders, hand playing with wisps of damp curls tickling Loki's neck, all as easily and readily as he smiles, as if _of course_ Loki will fall asleep against him.

As if there's nothing more right than Steve's arm around his shoulders as he dozes.

(Through the haze of alcohol and warmth and drowsiness, Loki is inclined to agree.)

•••

Waking up hungover and with no idea where he is is not exactly an _unusual_ experience for Loki.

Granted it's been a few years. (He and Bruce woke up in _Romania_ of all places, neither entirely sure how they had managed it, and Loki had sworn off drinking entirely (which lasted a week, but Loki is a firm believer of the thought being a what counts).)

As he stares up at a ceiling covered in glow in the dark stars in a bed that he very much doesn't know in pajamas that don’t fit, he can smell the mouth-watering aroma of melting chocolate and baking. Of strange places to wake up, this is not half so bad.

Eventually, he crawls out of bed and makes his way to the kitchen. He doesn't _remember_ fucking Steve, but he supposes it wouldn't be the first time he forgot sex while inebriated--just a shame in this particular instance.

"Good morning," Steve says, already warmth and glowing. Loki suspects Steve is at least partially _made_ of sunlight; it's criminal to be this cheerful so early.

"Nngh," Loki manages, eyeing a green... pastry box? on the counter. It looks like it already has things in it.

"You didn't see that," Steve says, pushing a cup of black coffee in his hands. As a distraction, it is certainly effective; Loki curls around it like it is the most precious thing in the world as Steve guides him back to the living room. Steve turns the television on and disappears back to the kitchen.

While Loki searches for the Saturday morning cartoons, Steve calls from the kitchen, "I called a locksmith. Should be by in about thirty minutes."

It takes Loki a few panicked moments to realize Steve said "locksmith" and not "landlord", coffee spilled and scalded on his hands as he startled.

"You're clothes are dry, too--" Steve trails as off as he comes back in, carrying plates filled with breakfast things that Loki has no appetite for. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," Loki snaps, setting the coffee down.

"Let me--stop, stop, here's a napkin."

Loki only growls, grabbing the napkin and cleaning his hands off.

“I’m not totally oblivious,” Steve says, half-smiling, reproach in his voice. “And I’d rather you not hate me.”

“It is appreciated,” Loki says stiffly, briefly looking up to meet Steve’s eyes and immediately determining that while it has improved his mood, it has certainly not allowed him to stay unfairly irritated with Steve.

Steve only pats Loki’s knee before standing.

“I’ll get your clothes out of the dryer.”

•••

“So I was thinking,” Steve says, when the door to Loki’s place has been successfully opened and Loki once more has his keys in his possession.

“I hope you didn’t strain anything,” Loki says, looking over his duplex, verifying that everything is, in fact, where it should be.

“I was thinking,” Steve repeats, as if Loki hasn’t said anything, “that it might be nice to go on a date sometime. Maybe a movie, or dinner.”

Loki stares. Loki doesn’t _do_ dates, because dates mean having to deal with _other people_ \--deal with other people and not fuck up a potential relationship, and really, Loki has generally just given up on _trying_.

Steve sets a green cardboard box on Loki’s table, gives him another of his million watt smiles that should scorch him to the bone but mostly just makes him feel soft and fuzzy inside.

“Think about it, okay?” Steve says. “I’ve got to go to work.”

And then he goes.

Loki stares after him, because the idea that _Steve_ , all American and _wholesome_ Steve Rogers, would want anything to do with _him_ is…

It is most certainly a _thing_.

•••

He only remembers to investigate the box later, after another cup of coffee manages to remind him that he has an unopened box of what smells like _baked goods_ on his table.

Eating baked goods does not, Loki decides, mean that he is at all obligated to go on a date with Steve.

They’re beautiful--chocolate lava cupcakes, the piped icing on top criminally pretty and nearly _professional._  Loki thinks it might be a crime to eat them even as his sweet tooth insists very firmly that it will revolt if he doesn’t eat _at least_ one. So he does.

They are, Loki recognizes immediately, the very first chocolate lava cupcakes he found a recipe for, when he was looking for things to _do_ with Steve, and really, that answers his question, doesn’t it?

He eats the entire box over the course of the day (his sweet tooth isn’t to be trifled with, it’s _only_ six cupcakes after all) and finally, when he finishes the last one, he neatly wipes the interior free of crumbs and stray icing and folds the box up, fully intending to return it to Steve later.

Then he picks up his phone and sends Steve a text:

_What about tonight at 7? Preferably a place without shellfish, I have an allergy_.

Which Loki doesn’t let himself think that Steve _knows_ he has an allergy, because of course he does. Instead, he picks up the folded box and puts it in the back of his closet, right by his coat so that he doesn’t forget to give it back to Steve because Loki is many, many things, but _sentimental_ is most certainly not one of them.


End file.
